Lost and Found
by Elle Mira
Summary: This is Julia's take on Ephram's music and Andy, from her point of view. Review please.


I would listen to my son play the piano when he thought no one was around. I'd linger as he practiced every day, or stand outside of the door and lean my head against the wall and just hear him get so deep into the music. He said he played better when I was around, but I liked it when he was out of view. I couldn't see his eyes, partly closed in his passion, buried so deep beneath his troubled brow, so much like my husband's eyes were. Those eyes, the eyes my husband had passed on to my son, were so unattainable and unreachable, and every time I saw them I could not help feeling pity. It was as if they always had tears in them, even when he was happy; tears that were not willing to stream down his cheeks; tears that could only stay.

When Ephram was out of view, I couldn't see the agile hands that caressed the keys with such skill, like my husband's hands could with a scalpel. Although I did love it dearly, the reminder of Andy's indifference was not in sight when I got my wish.

And I didn't have to think about how Andy would rather be in a hospital, cutting through bone and flesh, instead of being close to me. I didn't have to think of how he had forgotten Delia's birthday the week before, or Ephram's recital two months ago.

I could just . . . listen.

And forget everything. 

That there was an Andy, and that he wanted so badly for his gloved hands to be covered in blood rather than being around me. That he didn't want me. 

That the Andy I fell in love with no longer existed.

When I couldn't see Ephram, but I could hear his playing, I could see nothing at all.

***

"When you were about three years old, we went to Nonny and Grandpa's house for dinner. I think it was their anniversary. Anyway, all the grown-ups were in the kitchen having our coffee when suddenly I heard this music coming from the living room. I walked out and saw you sitting on the piano bench. And you weren't just banging away like a regular three-year-old, you were making music." 

"I doubt it was. . . ."

"It was music. The whole family, one by one, started coming out. Nonny pulled out her camera and started flashing away like a maniac. But you didn't even look up. You just kept hitting one key after another, hearing something." 

***

"It's so great to see you again, Julia!" 

I spun around at the sound of my name, almost dropping my coffee. In front of me was my aunt, Delia. There she was, just as I remembered her, with slightly graying brown hair, wide dark eyes, and a wry smile. I hadn't seen her in two or three years; she lived in California and had made the long trip for my parents' anniversary, to see her sister, my mother, again. I greeted her with a warm embrace.

"How are you?" she exclaimed.

"I'm fine," I said truthfully. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It sure has!" said Delia enthusiastically. "Well? How have you been? I just got in from the airport and said hi to your parents. Whew, I hate those plane rides! Where's your son?"

I looked to my legs, where the toddler was usually shyly clinging, but surprisingly he was not there. I quickly scanned the area, looking around the feet of the relatives in the crowded room, but my son was nowhere to be found. "Oh, Ephram's around here somewhere," I told Delia casually.

"Well, I'll have to see the little guy soon," she demanded with a smile; "I haven't seen him since he was a newborn. Do you think you and Andy will be having your second any time soon?"

My eyes immediately went to my husband, who was fervently speaking into my mother's phone in the other room, to one of his patients, oblivious to everything around him. I looked back at Delia with a false smile and clarified, "I don't think Andy's quite ready for another son or daughter yet."

Delia didn't ask for any further explanation; she just said lowly with a smirk, "Well, you'll be sure to name that one after me when he is, right?"

I laughed, pleased with how easygoing my aunt's attitude was. "Of course, whether it's a boy or girl!" I joked.

"Julia!" My mother came running up to me, or rather, quickly walking - she wasn't the type of person who ran under any circumstances. "Go find Ephram, will you? Mrs. Barrett wants to meet him."

"Sure," I agreed, setting my full coffee cup onto the table. 

I dodged several conversing couples to do a search of the house. I investigated the hallway and bathroom, but there was no sign of Ephram. I began to get worried. There was so much trouble a three-year-old could get into while not under the close watch of an adult. Right as I was about to head upstairs to check the bedrooms, I heard music coming from the living room. 

The music was broken and uneven, but it was still a melody all the same. Curiously I made my way closer to the living room, and there I found my son sitting at the piano bench, plinking away, hitting key after key with his right tiny hand. I just stood and stared and listened for a long time, and he probably knew I was there, but he didn't even spare me a glance. He was so deep in what he was doing.

My father came up from behind me and put his hand on the small of my back while he watched my son, smiling. "He's a bright little guy, isn't he?"

I nodded, mystified. 

My father called for my mother, who quickly came to our side, leading her troupe of friends. They all smiled, made "aww" noises, and went up to the toddler and asked him questions, but he didn't look up at them either. He just kept playing, note after note, key after key. Eventually every guest filed into the living room, watching, smiling, laughing, talking, listening. I wish I could say that Andy was one of them, but he was still in speaking to a patient; he was not yet ready to save those who were related to him. For now, he could only work miracles for strangers. 

The room was filled with the flash of my mother's camera and the noisiness of her guests. And Ephram merely continued to play. He never stopped. Not that day, not a day afterward.

***

"And that was it, Ephram. You never stopped playing after that. I don't know what led you to the piano that day, and I don't know what's kept you coming back day after day since then but you do it. Do you know why?"

"No." 

"It's because you have no choice. Even if you quit, even if you decided you were sick of spending so many hours practicing every day, you'd find your way back to this bench. Because you and your talent, you're inseparable. There isn't one without the other."

***

When I used to listen to Ephram play from outside of the room, I had no problems at all. No matter what crime Andy had just recently committed that had broken my heart, I could lose myself. Lose everything.

And then the music would fade away and I would have to find myself once more. 

--Fin--

[A/N: Thanks for reading. Don't know if I really proved a point, but let me know. Review, please! ^__^ 

--Elle]


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